State of Mind
by Dr Megalomania
Summary: Death is a state of mind. A test of the Will. JeanPaul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.
1. New Moon

**Notes:** An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people, it's lots of fun. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little.

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

'_You dumb fuck.' _

Northstar couldn't believe he'd let himself be nailed through the heart by Logan! Even as his heart muscles contracted and expanded in a vain effort to keep beating, as he sank down the rough bark and got splinters in his scalp, Jean-Paul's last conscious thought was berating, a hot, angry spike as he yelled at himself in his mind.

'_You dumb fuck!'

* * *

_

**Chapter 1:** _New Moon

* * *

_

"Let me out! LET ME OUT!"

The fury rose like a living thing, poisoned and mad. His voice was horse, his throat was raw.

"LET ME OUT, GODDAMN YOU! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME LOCKED UP LIKE THIS!"

The cage was a box. Six feet, by six, by eight in height. It was the strongest metal containment that could be found and supplied at such short notice. It was suspended in the air by eight thick chains: four from the reinforced ceiling, and four from the floor.

"KILLERS! BASTARDS! I'LL KILL YOU ALL FOR DOING THIS TO ME!"

It rocked with the force of his blows, which rained hard and fast. The cage was supplied with air by a ventilation unit attached to the ceiling and feeding down a tube to the top. Along the sides, along the top and bottom of the panels, there ran a long series of air holes. Not large enough to get anything more than a finger through.

"I can hear you." The hoarse voice hissed, breathless laughter echoed from within. "Oh, yes, I can hear you. I know you're there."

This cage was secure. Nothing could leave, nothing could enter. It was sealed at the top with an electro-magnetic pulse. It was designed for keeping uncertain elements at bay. As light flooded the containment bay, and the sound of boots sounded on metal gangways, the prisoner fell mercifully silent. He was listening.

There were many footsteps. Not just one person. They didn't speak. They paused below him. Out of his range of sight through the air holes.

"I'll kill you for this." He promised them, "I'll fucking kill you all for this."

They stood in silence for the longest time, and he could imagine the scene. Wolverine would be there, as would Professor X. The Beast. Annie. Perhaps the Angel and Havok, the ones would caught him would be there. Probably Cyclops – if he stopped contemplating his navel for long enough – and Emma Frost. Possibly Robert Drake, if only out of a mild, morbid curiosity. No students.

They would be standing there and staring with despair, with horrified expressions. With guilt. They had brought him to the cursed institution; they had tricked him into being an X-Man. They who had struck the fatal blow. Those who treated him like shit because he preferred to fuck men. Those who cast him out from the 'X-Family' simply because he was not an original member.

Northstar gave up trying to see through the air holes, and turned his back against the cold metal wall. He slid down to sit, and stretch out his legs. Clenching his fists, he raged against the perpetual darkness that trapped him. "LET ME OUT, YOU FUCKING KILLER!"

He closed his eyes, and opened his mind to what was happening outside. His imagination filled in the blanks. Wolverine had killed him, Wolverine had caught him. The X-men had stepped forward to claim their 'errant' member, and had incarcerated him in this cage in the hope of making him better. Now, he was trapped in a box with fucking idiots outside who thought they could cure him.

"You dumb fuck!" He spat at himself, "You should have been able to escape that."

* * *

"I can't believe this is real."

Annie started at the quiet voice, looking behind her at Bobby. Beside her, Alex looked grim as he stared at the box. Behind him, Professor Xavier looked on thoughtfully, beside him, Hank McCoy read over the medical notes. Devastatingly righteous in his pose, Warren folded his arms while beside him, almost hiding behind the angel's wings, Bobby Drake chewed on his lip indecisively. Bobby's hazel eyes flicked nervously between Logan's guilty expression, Scott's tight frown and Emma's cool observation.

There was a dull, angry **Thunk! **against the wall of the cage.

Annie sniffed, and turned to press her face into Alex's shoulder. She burst into almost silent sobs, her voice muffled. Alex's comforting whispers were indistinct as he led her away. Scott met his brother's eye and nodded, turning to follow him out. Emma gave the room a cool sweep with her ice blue eyes, before turning to follow Cyclops out. Angel huffed quietly, looking at Bobby as if he was going to say something but – at the look on Bobby's face – appeared to think better of it. Bobby watched as the beautiful wings flicked out and folded in an impatient gesture.

Bobby sucked in his lower lip and began to chew again. He looked over to Hank and the Professor. The two men had their heads bent together; their whispers and paper flicking were nothing but vague noises in the large metal room. Logan walked closer to the box, raising a hand almost hesitantly to touch but pulled away at the last moment. He turned to the Professor and Hank, his voice strangely subdued.

"Why would it work for me and not him?"

"We don't know…" Hank replied softly. Bobby found his attention drifting to the cage. He lost whatever Hank was going to say as he approached the cage gingerly. With the cage suspended in the air, there was a drop below it, with a ringed gangway all around. The bottom row of air holes was level with the floor of the gang way, about two feet of air between where he was standing and the walls of the cage.

Bobby sighed, staring forlornly at the side.

There was a sob from inside.

Bobby blinked with surprise and turned to see if the others had noticed, but they had already left. Their forms were blobs of colour beyond the frosted glass doors of the containment bay. Looking once more at the metal cage, Bobby stepped backward.

"Don't leave me alone." Jean-Paul's voice trembled, "Please… please don't leave me alone in here."

Bobby stood, undecided. He opened his mouth to speak when Hank's furry blue paw landed on his shoulder. The Beast held a finger to his lips, and shook his head.

Together, they turned and walked away.

The containment bay's lights clicked off.

* * *

The containment bay's lights clicked on.

New day begun at the flick of a switch.

He lost all concepts of sunset and sunrise. The lights came on for sixteen hours, and clicked off for the remaining eight. Very rarely did anyone actually enter the containment bay. He raged, he beat against the metal with all his speed and fury, but it yielded not results. He screamed, threatened, cried. The only time anyone entered was one lone set of footsteps that came at odd times.

He decided that it was Bobby.

Bobby would walk as close to the cage as the gangway would allow him. Bobby who's morbid curiosity couldn't keep him away. Bobby whose secondary mutation was killing him, and the only way to stop himself from dwelling on this fact was to come stare at the living dead man that was trapped in a box.

The visits were brief.

Bobby hummed occasionally, unconsciously as if he wasn't aware that he was humming Jean-Paul's favourite classical music. Debussy's "_Clair De Lune_", its lilting tones always reminded the speedster of his first time flying. His first taste of true freedom.

He craved those moments, and always stayed as quiet and as still as he could manage when Bobby started to hum. However, as soon as Jean-Paul recognised the tune, Bobby would stop humming abruptly as if he'd been caught doing something wrong.

Jean-Paul imagined that Bobby probably felt guilty about that foolish death threat; possibly even that Bobby needed to know if there was anything left of his mind. Jean-Paul heard Bobby's footsteps turn away from the cage, and he felt compelled to speak.

"Is there anyone here? Please…. I'm scared… I'm lonely…"

Bobby didn't even know why he had come. At least that's what he told himself as he walked down the gangway, he stopped and stared at the cage. The cold metal was dull in the strip lights of the ceiling. Bobby knew that it was a lie.

"Please, please my friend, I can hear you…" Jean-Paul's voice was unusually calm under the sobbing whispers. "I can hear you breathing."

He did know.

And he knew he was abusing his rights as a senior member of the X-Men. But he had to confirm it for himself, had to see it for himself… had to find out if Jean-Paul was still…

"Please. Please. Pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top… please don't leave me alone."

Jean-Paul's voice was hoarse, his breathing halting and desperate. The heavy French-Canadian accent was straining. Bobby stepped closer, shifting into his ice form.

"Are you still there? I can hear something… music I think…"

Bobby realised with a jerk that he was humming again, and stopped. There was a quiet, sad laugh from the cage.

"Oh god, I think I'm loosing my mind… Jeanne-Marie, oh, my darling sister…" Jean-Paul moaned a sob caught in his breath, "Oh god, I never knew, never knew how it was… Please, somebody, save me. Please don't let me go."

"Jean-Paul." Bobby whispered sadly, "Oh, Jean-Paul, I'm sorry."

There was scuffling in the cage and fingers wiggled desperately through the upper set of air holes. They were bloody. There were dark clumps of blood under the broken, jagged fingernails. Fresh blood covered the stains of the dried blood on the pale hands. "Bobby? Bobby, please! Why are you letting them do this to me? Can't you see that the treatments are doing nothing!"

"Jean-Paul…"

"I've done nothing! God damn you all, I've done NOTHING to warrant this torture!"

"You killed seventy men, almost killed Logan when we finally caught up with you." Bobby crouched down to swing his legs over the side of the gangway. He sat down, and stared at the wiggling fingers. "This is for your own good."

"My own good…? You're leaving me alone like this for my own good?" Jean-Pail seemed caught on the beginning of a wail, "Why? Why!"

"These thoughts aren't your own…" Bobby spoke faintly, his attention caught on the bloodied fingers. "Your head's just been screwed up by all that Hydra brain washing."

There was a sob, and Bobby felt his heart wrench. He almost couldn't stand it.

"Bobby, please don't leave me alone. I'm begging you, my brother."

"We can't let you out, you aren't responding right to the treatments. You'll be free when you get better."

"Non, non …" Jean-Paul's voice dipped suddenly, fear making him pant pathetically. "Please, you don't understand, don't leave me alone… in here… with _him_."

Bobby blinked.

Jean-Paul was alone in the cage… wasn't he?

"He's so angry Bobby, so free and angry… he's going to kill me if you leave, Bobby…"

"Wh-who are you talking about?" He frowned as silence descended on the cage again. He waited, for long moments, he waited and listened as the speedster's breathing evened out. When nothing more was forth coming, Bobby glanced up at the fingers. They were lax for a moment, before they carefully retreated in a graceful movement.

"Jean-Paul?" Bobby tried hesitantly, "Jean-Paul?"

"He's lying to you, Rober' …" Northstar's tone was icy, "I'm not going to hurt anyone, now let me out."

"What?"

There was a loud **Thunk!** against the cage wall, near Bobby's head, making the Iceman jump back.

"Listen, you lazy _fucking_ brat, you better let me out of here. You won't be able to reform fast enough when I'm done with you." There was another thunk, followed by several rapid fire thunks. "Let me out, Rober', let me take care of _business._ There are many who need a lesson, I should be _teaching_ right now. Rober' … let me out and I'll teach you what it means to be on the wrong side of the Northstar."

"Jean-Paul?" Bobby frowned and stepped back from the cage, "I… I want to speak to Jean-Paul."

"No. _No._ There is no Jean-Paul, no JP, no Jonny, no, no, nononono… There is only Northstar. I am the strongest. The fastest… and boy, but you'd better let me out. Let me out Rober', come out with me. Think of what we can do together."

"Wh-what?" Bobby stepped back further, "I don't know what you are talking about…"

"Come on, Rober' … do you really think pussy is better than me? Look at what women have done to you; think of what I could do to you? Lorna almost killed you and you still love her… I **will **kill you, and won't that be a turn on?"

"That's _enough_ for today. We'll try again tomorrow."

Bobby jumped as a blue furry hand landed on his shoulder and gently guided him away. Hank shook his head at Bobby silently, and pushed the younger man toward the exit doors.

"No, Rober', stay! Stay! STAY GOD DAMN YOU! STAY HERE AND **LET ME OUT**!"

The containment bay lights clicked off.

Day became night at the flick of a switch.

* * *

+ _New Moon _+


	2. Crescent

**Notes:** An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people. It's lots of fun to work with. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little.

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

**Chapter Two: Crescent

* * *

**

The containment bay's lights flicked on.

"The light makes everything feel so… unreal."

Bobby stuck his hands into his pockets and slouched. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was eight o'clock in the morning. He slid a gloved hand under his sunglasses and rubbed at his eyes. He was tired. He'd just come from a training session. Scott was testing him.

He sighed, cold air curling in beautiful swirls.

Jean-Paul – in all the five weeks of being contained – had shown no improvement. In fact, he was worse. His personality was splitting. There was a sobbing wreck of a man, broken and afraid. This was Jean-Paul. He constantly needed reassurances that he wasn't alone. Bobby felt for him. Bobby spent most of his nights feeling like that.

Then there was Northstar.

Oh, god.

Then there was Northstar.

He was hostile, murderous. Triumphant and proud. Fiery rage, icy distain. The extremes of the volatile emotions, every violent thought, and the basest of human desire all seemed to accumulate into this one personality. All he desired though was to leave the containment. He refused to call Bobby anything but Robert. Robert couldn't help it, but he felt for Northstar as well. With his secondary mutation still chewing away at his body, Northstar's freedom, his rage and his fury was so matching.

Last week, Northstar triumphantly declared Jean-Paul to be dead.

Yesterday, Jean-Paul was almost elated to discover Northstar was dead.

Neither had any recognition of the other anymore.

Bobby didn't have the heart to tell them, he knew they were both still there.

The only thing they seem to have in common had been that both swore blind that the other was dead.

Bloodied fingers poked desperately through the bottom set of air holes as Bobby caught himself humming again.

"Bobby?"

"I'm sorry, it's me again." He tried to smile, even though he knew Jean-Paul couldn't see him. From within, he heard Jean-Paul drag his sleeve over his nose with a loud sniff. It sounded as if the speedster had been crying since he left last night.

Bobby felt his heart do a funny little skip over that knowledge. He hated that Jean-Paul had been reduced into this. Jean-Paul had been a proud man and deservedly so. He'd been a great businessman, a good teacher and he could have been a good friend to Bobby if only Bobby had given him the chance. Bobby crouched down and chewed on his bottom lip, trying to decide. He flicked a look over his shoulder, looking toward the one-way mirror that denoted the containment bay's monitor room. Hank was probably watching.

He made up his mind and reached out across the gap between the gang way and the cage.

His fingers barely brushed against Jean-Paul's.

The speedster gasped, his fingers stilling for a long moment.

"Buh... B-bobby…" Jean-Paul's voice was filled with awe, "I… Bobby, are you really there?"

Bobby didn't answer; he just reached closer to hook his little finger around Jean-Paul's and tugged slightly. "When you're better…" Bobby promised, "You'll be able to leave. You won't be alone anymore."

"And then you'll take me somewhere nice?" Jean-Paul sounded more fragile in the moment than ever before, "When I'm better?"

Bobby blinked dazedly. He couldn't understand the rush of feelings, he felt scared and protective, horrified and guilty, torn and desperate. He couldn't believe it when he heard himself respond in a warm tone.

"You'll love it, we'll go together."

He stayed there, gloved little finger curled around Jean-Paul's bloody, pale finger.

The containment bay's lights flicked off.

* * *

_Three weeks later …_

"Tell me about Joanne."

"Read my book, you illiterate asshole."

Robert rolled his eyes, "Go away Northstar, I was talking to Jean-Paul."

"Fuck you, I'm bored and he's boring me." There was a pause. "How can you stand talking to him? He's so… so like Jeanne-Marie… stuck-up bitch, fuck her! I'm sick of her shit!"

Robert tilted his head and moved a little closer. He created a little ice extension so he could be closer to the cage. Folding his legs underneath himself, Robert reached out to touch the cage. "Tell me about Jeanne-Marie."

"What the fuck? What the hell would _you_ want to know _anything_ about my life? I told you to read my goddamn book, Rober', or will the words be too fucking long for you?"

"Northstar." A warning.

"Fuck you. I'm sick of this. If you aren't going to kill me--"

"We're not going to kill you, asshole." Robert punched the side of the cage, "We're trying to fucking help you, okay! I just want to help you! _You dumb fuck!_"

"Why? What the fuck are you going to get out of helping me! Huh?" Northstar thumped the cage's wall back, "You are _always_ a bastard to me, even when I'm trying to do _my_ job and it has _fuck all_ to do with you. 'I'm going to kill you.'" Northstar taunted in a false American accent, "Remember that? I was helping Wolverine, trying to get help together for Angel and what do you tell me! Fuck you, Rober', fuck you!"

A rapid series of bangs against the wall told Robert that Northstar was kicking the walls. The cage rocked in its suspension. Robert let it for several minutes until the cage began to still again, and Northstar was panting heavily.

"Are you done?" He tilted his head curiously.

Breathlessly, Northstar stuck his middle finger out the air vents and muttered, "Fuck you, Rober'."

Robert couldn't help it, he snickered. Sobering, he reached out and touched the finger. "Tell me about Jeanne-Marie, asshat."

"Why should I, fucker?"

"I could talk about Scott's sock collection, cocksucker."

"I'll blind you, son of a bitch."

"And I'm still wearing protective eyewear for that." Robert tapped the heavy duty goggles, "Fool me once, bastard."

"Fuck off."

"Fine!" Robert stood and purposely began striding away. He knew it would only be a moment before Jean-Paul would take over and—

"Rober' don't, please…"

Robert blinked and paused, "Northstar?"

"Oui." Northstar's fingers had retracted and from the scuffling noises, Robert imagined the man inside the box was floating. Probably trying to peer through the top air holes. Robert stepped back toward the cage, confused. "Northstar…"

"Yes. I'm still here." Northstar spat, there was a pause before he spoke again. "I… I'm sorry. My temper, I know I should control it but …" Northstar sounded disgusted with himself, "For fuck's sake, Rober', let me out…"

Robert stood closer to the cage, crouching down when the scuffling noises were heard again and fingers reappeared through the air vents. Robert touched them, "You'll get better."

"I won't." Northstar sounded oddly calm, introvert, "I'm going mad, Rober' …" his voice dropped to a whisper, "Rober' … God's sake, let me out… I don't want to be here …"

Robert stared at Northstar's fingers, and found himself curling his own around them. Northstar choked back a sob uselessly before breaking down. "Rob-bbeerr'… oh god, please… Ro-oh-oh-bert. Oh god, oh god… oh my god…"

Robert Drake never hated the cage's wall as much as he did that moment.

When Northstar finally stopped crying and his fingers were lax, Robert began to speak softly. "I'll take you somewhere nice. I promise… you'll love it."

One hand remained curled loosely around Northstar's fingers, his other hand trailed up to his chest and pressed against the ice. Robert let his eyes slid shut.

"We'll go together."

* * *

_Early…_

"He's still alive, isn't he?"

Bobby was silent for a moment, before Jean-Paul continued sourly. "It's ok, I suspected as much." He sighed, staring blankly into the darkness that filled the cage. "I'd just hoped that I was getting better. Not worse."

He turned to lie down, and stared through the air holes along the bottom. Bobby was sitting on one of his little ice shelves. Well, actually he was slouched. Leaning over to one side, in a way that made Jean-Paul want to snap at him. A book was open in front of him, and Jean-Paul was surprised to see it was _HIS_ book.

Beautiful hazel eyes were hidden behind midnight blue goggles, his uniform was still that awkward mix between cool and wannabe. Bobby stubbornly continued to wear the gloves, which made Jean-Paul think that perhaps the ice had spread into his hands. Now that he was looking at Bobby so closely, he could see spikes of the dark ice just above Bobby's collar. It was immediately devastating and beautiful at the same time.

It made Jean-Paul more afraid.

If Bobby disappeared, then he would be alone.

The Iceman began to hum again, eyes flicking down to continue reading.

A page turned.

Jean-Paul pressed his face against the cold metal floor of the cage, and began to sob again.

"When you're better, you'll be able to leave." Bobby's voice was oddly soothing, mildly distracted. "When you can leave, we'll go somewhere nice."

"Don't leave me alone." Jean-Paul moved to push his fingers through the holes and wiggled them desperately, hoping Bobby would touch him.

"I won't." Despite the gloves, Bobby's fingers were warm as they wrapped around his fingers. "You'll love it, we'll go together."

Jean-Paul sniffled; bring his other hand to wipe at his face. He gasped as the light from the air holes glinted off Northstar's boots. Looking up, the other speedster stared down at him with distain. "You dumb fuck," he hissed before stepping back into the darkness. The shadows of the cage swallowed the other whole.

"That's enough for today… We can continue tomorrow."

Jean-Paul whimpered at the new voice and turned his head to look out the air holes. He watched as Hank guided Bobby away from cage. Bobby paused briefly to look back, Jean-Paul's autobiography clutched to his chest as if it were a precious thing. He smiled gently, pulling the goggles away from his face and giving Jean-Paul a flash of the hazel eyes he'd loved so much from before.

Bobby's smile was so warm, so _wonderful._

The containment bay's lights flicked off.

And Jean-Paul whimpered in the darkness of the new night.

* * *

+ _Crescent_ +

* * *


	3. Half Moon

**Notes:** An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people. It's lots of fun to work with. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little.

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

It was still dark.

Jean-Paul sat up, and looked around for what woke him. It was Northstar. Northstar was crouched in a corner. His index finger held up and lit. He stared at his finger, before his cold blue eyes flickered up. Jean-Paul never realised how sharp his features were, how icy his eyes could be.

"Why are you here?"

Blood – not _his_ blood – dripped down from Northstar's shiny black hair and landed soundlessly in the pool that was gathering beneath him. Jean-Paul stared at the pool with a roiling sick feeling in his stomach. He drew his knees up, and scrambled backward as the pool began to spread. He didn't want the blood to touch him, because he knew it would still be warm. Northstar smiled but his eyes were filled with cold fury.

"Because you won't let me out, you dumb fuck."

Jean-Paul blinked and found himself crouching, staring at his lit index finger.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Half Moon

* * *

**

The containment bay's lights flicked on.

It was day.

"Note to file: Subject _still_ converses with himself."

Jean-Paul scrambled to the side to see through the tiny air holes. The bright light was so harsh; Hank McCoy was nothing but a big blue lump in scrubs. He was consulting a clip board. Behind him, Bobby stood staring directly at the cage. He had pushed the heavy duty goggles up onto his head, throwing his floppy hair into all kinds of silly spikes. Bobby couldn't see him, and yet a warm smile flitted over his handsome face.

"But you'll get better, and then I'll take you somewhere nice." Bobby walked closer to the cage, "You'll love it, we'll go together."

Jean-Paul wasn't aware he'd pushed his fingers through the air holes, until Bobby had curled his gloved hand around the digits. Hank moved away, muttering to himself. "Neural-wipe on; simulation commences in T-5 pico-seconds…"

"Bobby?" Jean-Paul asked, nervous upon hearing the strange words. The voice was distorted in the massive room.

"Shh, don't worry about it." Bobby leant against the cage, and stroked his smooth, gloved fingers over Jean-Paul's fingers. "Talk to me about something."

"But what was he saying…?"

"I said, don't worry about it." Jean-Paul imagined Bobby had a warm smile on his face. "Talk to me about something."

"I … okay. What…" Jean-Paul licked dry lips, "What shall I talk about? Can't you start? Please, tell me something about the outside?"

"They always worry about things they don't understand." Bobby began, and Jean-Paul blinked as he smelt coffee. Bobby paused to sip. "The same old thing, they think I'm spending too much time with you. Emma called me in yesterday, she says it's unhealthy. It's _unrealistic_ for a man like me to be spending so much time with you."

Jean-Paul sniffed dully, "Because I'm crazy."

"Because you're gay and I come from a homophobic family." Bobby chuckled low, "But they are too afraid to visit you. I'm not."

"Because you've got a stubborn streak, you foolish little American." Jean-Paul removed his fingers from the holes and turned to rest his back against the cage's wall. He smiled into the darkness, avoiding thinking about the opposite corner, where the light seemed to fade away. He knew what lurked in that corner, and if he didn't acknowledge it, nothing bad would happen. He wished he could talk to Bobby about the corner, but he knew that Bobby might go away.

He wished that Bobby could stay with him. Just so he wouldn't be left alone with—Bobby's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Exactly." Bobby continued, "I need to do this Jean-Paul, not only for you… but for me too. It's not like I have anything else to do. Did I tell you? Scott removed me from active duty."

"But why? If your powers are correctly applied, you easily could become a one-man team." Jean-Paul protested hotly, "With the correct training, you are so magnificent!"

There was some silence, and Jean-Paul feared for a moment that Bobby had left. Feared that he had revealed too much of his deeply held love of the man. Jean-Paul chewed at his bottom lip before venturing nervously. "Bobby?"

"That's so kind of you… why didn't I hear you like this before you were killed?"

Jean-Paul continued to chew on a lip, "I would… I would have been happy to speak to you, but you always made it so hard."

"I realise that now. I'm so sorry." There was a scuffling noise as Bobby shifted. The sharp tangy smell of orange hit Jean-Paul's nose. "I brought you an orange," Bobby explained distractedly, "Do you want to share?"

"No." Jean-Paul murmured, "I'm not really hungry."

"Okay, but I'll eat it slowly, in case you change your mind." Bobby chewed on a segment, before speaking again, "I was in the library, trying to chose a book to read to you… there's little point in me reading your own autobiography at you, eh?"

Jean-Paul turned to lie on his back, and turned his head to stare at the void in the light, where Bobby was lying against the air holes.

"I'm enjoying it. I mean I'm engrossed in it, I never realised how deep your life was… uh, _is_."

"Silly Bobby." Jean-Paul whispered, his eyelids feeling heavy, "My wonderfully silly Bobby."

The scuffling noises sounded again, and Bobby shifted to look in. His warm hazel eyes were still unprotected, "Go to sleep now, Jean-Paul."

As Jean-Paul let consciousness slip away from him, Bobby began to hum or perhaps the containment bay filled with the soft little tones of his favourite music.

"Sleep now. Don't fight the anaesthetic."

The containment bay's lights clicked off.

* * *

"It's spring time, asshole."

The containment bay's lights were already on.

Jean-Paul was startled as he woke up. He looked around the cage, his eyes adjusting for the darkness and the meagre light provided by the air holes. "What?"

"I said, it's _spring time_, you dumb fuck." Bobby's voice was wearily irked. Jean-Paul – despite the safety of the cage – crawled backward.

"Why are you angry at me?"

"Northstar?" Bobby's voice came closer, "Or Jean-Paul?"

"Jean-Paul, it's _me_. Bobby, why are you angry at me? Please don't be angry at me, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to kill anyone – but Hydra! Hydra filled my head, they made me so angry. I didn't want to die!"

"Shh, shh… dear Jean-Paul, calm down." Bobby's voice instantly drained of all anger. "I believe you. I wasn't angry, that's… that's just how we talk, Northstar and I, that's just as we talk to each other. I'm not really angry, he just…"

"He's so angry at _everything_, he blames me…" Jean-Paul felt a fat tear roll down his face, followed by many others, "He blames me for trapping him in here. I told him, this is where we're _safe_! This is where we don't hurt people, but he doesn't believe me! He's just so angry!"

"I noticed." Bobby said, "I've spoken to him so I know. I know that you're struggling with this, but you're right. You can't leave yet, he's still so dangerous. He'll kill people because that's what Hydra have put in his head." Bobby paused for a moment, "Did you really have to take something to help you sleep at night?"

Jean-Paul tried to get his tears under control and he was winning until that soft question, "Oh Bobby, I was so lonely! I couldn't stand it, everyone was so cruel… The pills—The pills were only supposed to be a stop-gap—I mean, B-bobby, it was only meant… what would you have done, in my place! Bobby, please don't be angry, please don't _leave_!"

"I dunno. Say a prayer, I guess. I just feel a little hypocritical." Bobby must have shifted, his voice momentarily dropping into an inaudible whisper. All Jean-Paul caught was the tale end, "… weren't exactly the best of friends."

Jean-Paul started, and scrambled toward the air holes to thrust his fingers out, "No! Bobby, no! You are so worried about your ice, and I… I knew that we couldn't be… I saw you with that woman, you—"

"Shh, don't worry about it anymore. Talk to me about something."

Jean-Paul blinked, and the music started again.

"What…?"

"I asked Hank to pipe some music through, is classical okay?" Bobby chuckled low, "I suppose he only just figure out how to do it."

"Yes, yes I suppose. Bobby, thank you."

"For what? I just want you to be comfortable; you'll never get better if you keep fighting the treatment."

"Do you mean me?" Jean-Paul wondered, trying to meet Bobby's eyes through the air holes. "Or are you speaking about Northstar?"

"That's enough for today, we'll continue tomorrow."

Bobby looked up as the voice softly echoed through the containment bay. Hank's voice sounded so strange on the P.A. system. He smiled sadly at Jean-Paul. "Talk to me about the Dawn."

Bobby iced up completely as the containment bay's lights clicked off.

He didn't need eyes to see.

Jean-Paul lifted his index finger…

And Northstar concentrated on lighting it.

The cage filled with light while the containment bay was plunged into the false night.

"You told me death was just a state of mind." Robert continued, unconcerned by the darkness. "Tell me more."

Northstar grinned wickedly, allowing the light in his body to spill forth. He stared through the air holes, and met Robert's beautiful icy eyes. The light reflected through out him, a living prism.

"Promise me… you'll let me out."

Robert's icy features fluidly moved into a mirroring wicked smile.

"You'll love it, we'll go together."

* * *

The containment bay lights flicked on.

"Good morning?"

Jean-Paul groaned, his eyes felt sore and crusted. He pressed his warm forehead against the cold metal.

"Hello?" Bobby spoke again, "Are you awake yet?"

Jean-Paul chuckled mirthlessly, "I'm not sure I want to be." He knew that Northstar had kept them awake for longer than the night-day lights permitted. He was rebelling against the strict controllers of the containment bay. Jean-Paul whimpered, and felt fresh tears spring up in his eyes, Northstar was so cruel. Why couldn't he understand that they needed to be here, to protect them.

"Jean-Paul? Northstar?"

"I'm not sure I want to be, Bobby." Jean-Paul groaned again. There were quiet scraps against the metal as the man in the cage crawled toward the air holes to poke his fingers through. "Good morning, dear, dear Bobby."

"Good morning, Jean-Paul. Did you sleep well?"

"Non." Jean-Paul sniffed mournfully, "I want a bed."

"When you're better," Bobby answered automatically. Jean-Paul imagined he was smiling hopelessly. Every morning would start like this. He'd touch Jean-Paul's fingers, hooking his little finger around Jean-Paul's middle finger, and curling his hand so he could rub his thumb over the curled knuckles of the French Canadian.

"When I'm better," Jean-Paul echoed distractedly.

Bobby stroked Jean-Paul's fingers. Their world seemed to shrink into this simple contact. This is what Bobby spent a lot of his time doing every day. Everyday, just assuring Jean-Paul-and-Northstar that they hadn't been forgotten. That there was still one X-Man that remembered his obligations to them.

The quiet sound of music surprised them both as it filtered into the compartment.

Jean-Paul felt Bobby's fingers tighten automatically as he jerked in surprise.

"Hank must be having trouble using the controls." Bobby muttered as if to explain the random occurrence of the classical music. It came at odd intervals, sometimes playing for hours, sometimes for mere moments. Jean-Paul wondered if Hank's hands had really become that clumsy.

"He told me he was having trouble because his hands aren't really up to such fine movements."

Bobby's voice was matter-of-fact, and Jean-Paul nodded despite himself.

"Yes," he replied distractedly. "Yes, that must be it."

Bobby's shadow shifted as he moved away and then closer again.

The smell of coffee hit Jean-Paul's nose. "I miss drinking coffee."

Bobby's laugh was sudden. "But your body always reacted badly to the caffeine! You swore you'd never drink coffee again, after that encounter with that hairy bloke. Heather made you promise you'd never drink coffee again!"

Jean-Paul blinked and laughed, remembering the incident. "Yes, yes! That's true!" He chuckled, feeling warm that Bobby laughed along side him. He laughed, until tears began to stream down his face. It wasn't all that funny, but it felt so good to laugh with Bobby. He'd only ever heard Bobby laugh freely like this once. It had been late, and Bobby was watching TV. For once it had been an honest laugh, a free laugh, free from malice and the underlying anger that Bobby was constantly battling with.

Out of the shadows of the cage, Northstar stepped.

"You dumb fuck." Northstar accused him, "Do you think this is really funny?"

Jean-Paul met his eye, and the shadows swallowed him.

Robert's voice was concerned, "Northstar. Leave him alone."

"Why should I, Rober'? He's mad." Northstar hissed angrily. He pressed his back against the cold metal wall, and glared into the darkness where Jean-Paul had disappeared into. Looking down to his left, he could see the void where Robert's body blocked the light from entering the cage. "He was laughing so much; I thought perhaps he was broken." He narrowed his eyes at the air holes, "How did you know about the coffee?"

"I've been reading your autobiography." Robert answered quite promptly and, as if to back this up, there was the turn of a page. "I read it there. How else would I know about it?"

Northstar closed his eyes and pulled his legs in to sit cross-legged. "When are you going to let me out?"

"When you are better."

"What if I never get better?"

"You will." Robert answered and then sneered, "Unless of course you really are B-List. Wolverine told me all about it."

"All about what?" Northstar's eyes snapped open, "What did that bastard tell you?"

"How he beat your ass, fucker." Robert sniggered, "How did it feel? Getting your ass handed to you by Wolverine, not once… but _twice_!"

"You fucking bastard!" Northstar rose up from the floor, and jumped into the air. There wasn't much room to float in, but it was enough that he could get a foot off the ground. He looked at the upper row of air holes and saw as Robert's shadow caused a void. There was a musical noise, a quiet 'shush' as Robert froze the water in the air. Robert leant toward the holes, and peered through. His hazel eyes glinted darkly.

"Leave Jean-Paul _alone_, Northstar," Robert warned dangerously, "Or I'll fucking kill you."

"Jean-Paul got us killed once. I don't intend to give him a second chance." Northstar raised his hands and sneered unpleasantly. A nano-second later the box filled with light.

Robert cried out in pain as the bright light burnt his eyes.

"Fooled you twice, motherfucker." Northstar grinned coldly.

"That's enough for today." Northstar moved closer to the upper row of air holes to see the Beast in scrubs walk down the gangway, his eyes protected by heavy duty goggles. "We'll continue tomorrow."

He leant over to help Robert to his feet, and the Iceman staggered away. When they got half way to the door, Robert was able to walk by himself. As the Beast continued out, Robert turned to face the cage. The upper half of his face was iced up, but the ice was quickly receding.

Robert smiled as his hazel eyes reappeared from under the ice. He raised a hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. Robert blew him a kiss and winked. Northstar snarled unpleasantly as the Iceman gave him the middle finger, "See you later, you dumb fuck."

Northstar's eyes flickered upward, as the containment bay's lights flicked out.

Night was here.

* * *

+ _Half Moon_ +

* * *


	4. Full Moon

**Notes:** An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people. It's lots of fun to work with. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little. PLEASE REVIEW - seriously, it really helps me out when I get some feedback.

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

**Chapter Four: Full Moon

* * *

**

The containment bay's lights switched on.

Jean-Paul had been awake for an hour, and silently tears tracked down his face. He stared blankly at the lower air holes as a shadow approached. It moved around, and he followed its movements with his eyes until it moved out of his line of sight. He raised a hand to wipe at his face, and swallowed fearfully as the shadow moved back. It stood directly in front of him and darkened dramatically as the person leant forward.

"Are you awake?"

Jean-Paul closed his eyes and swallowed, speaking in a very small voice, "Yes."

He could hear the smile in Bobby's voice. "I'm glad." There was a musical sound, the sound of ice forming as Bobby made the little shelf he sat on. Jean-Paul gathered himself up and moved closer. "Good morning," he said humbly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not really." Bobby chuckled outside; there was the smell of coffee again. "I spent last night in the library; I was looking for a decent book to read you and got caught up in a few titles."

"I love doing that." Jean-Paul smiled slightly, he moved so he could sit with his back against the cool metal walls. He tilted his head back and concentrated on Bobby. He was probably sitting in a similar position. One hand wrapped around a cup of coffee and …

He heard a page turn.

… and a book in the other hand. He loved getting lost in libraries.

"We should do that. When you get better, we'll go somewhere nice."

Jean-Paul blinked, unaware that he'd spoken. He smiled warmly, even though Bobby couldn't see him. "I'll look forward to it."

There was a shifting sound as Bobby moved closer, Jean-Paul turned, lying down so he could look out the air holes. Bobby's wonderful hazel eyes sparkled as he promised quietly, "You'll love it, we'll go together."

Keeping eye contact, Jean-Paul shifted to poke his fingers through the air holes. Bobby blinked and moved his hands to curl his gloved fingers around Jean-Paul's digits.

When their eyes met again, Bobby gave Jean-Paul a brilliant, beautiful smile. "I can hardly wait. Show me everything."

"What do you mean?" Jean-Paul asked quietly, but Bobby didn't reply immediately.

"I brought you an orange, would you like to share?"

Jean-Paul felt cold suddenly. "No. I'm not hungry."

"Okay, but I'll eat it slowly, in case you change your mind."

Bobby stroked his fingers once, before letting go so he could start peeling the orange. He sat back, so that Jean-Paul could see his hands. The orange was large, very juicy looking. Jean-Paul blinked and looked up. Bobby was humming again.

"Did you really bring me an orange?"

Bobby stopped humming. "Of course, why would I lie to you?"

"No. You wouldn't, would you?" Jean-Paul giggled helplessly. Silence descended for a long moment, broken only by Bobby humming again, and the sound of his peeling the orange. Jean-Paul watched him through the air holes, before he began to speak in a rush, "Bobby! Bobby?"

Bobby's gloved hands stilled. "Yes?"

"Wh-when I get better, will you be there?"

"Yes." Bobby curled over so he could look through the air holes. His floppy golden-brown hair needed a cut, it brushed against his knees as he bent.

"Really?" Jean-Paul pressed, "Will you _really_ be there?"

Bobby didn't reply and he looked confused. Jean-Paul felt the sting of tears again, and his lower lip trembled as he let out a quiet sob. "Oh god. Bobby." Bobby and the air holes blurred as tears welled up in Jean-Paul's eyes.

There was another silence before Jean-Paul spoke again.

"Northstar said… he doesn't think you're really here. I told him he was wrong!" Jean-Paul's voice cracked as he cried out suddenly, "I told him you were here, but he doesn't think you really are! He says we're mad! He says you hate us! You don't hate us, Bobby! You don't, do you?"

"No." Bobby put the orange down and approached the cage again. "No, I don't hate you; I was just… angry before, I was angry at myself and just took it out on you."

There was a very long silence, so long that Bobby swallowed and spoke again.

"I don't hate you, Jean-Paul. I… I think I love you."

Jean-Paul's voice shook terribly. "Oh god," he moaned brokenly. "He said you'd say exactly that! Oh god, you're not real! You're not real! I'm mad! I'm alone and I'm mad! Oh god! OH GOD! I WISH I WAS DEAD! I'M DEAD! THEY NEVER WOKE ME UP!"

Bobby stepped closer to the cage and pressed his hands against the box. "Jean-Paul?" He called out, trying to get above the trapped man's wails, "CODE FOUR!" He looked over his shoulder to the nearest camera, "CODE FOUR! GET SOME HELP! CODE FOUR! HE'S BREAKING DOWN HERE!"

Bobby turned his attention back on the cage as Jean-Paul's wails took a disturbingly pained tone to it. As the wails continued, Bobby grew concerned as with every breath that the other man took, he sounded as if he were grunting with some sort of effort. A sickened feeling passed over Bobby, and the water in the air took on a metallic tang. Horrified, Bobby began to call out for help again. He had just started banging on the walls when the containment bay's emergency lights turned on.

Everything was flushed red as a multitude of voices entered the bay.

Inside the cage, Jean-Paul fell to his knees and clutched his head. Something had overtaken his wailing, he could hear something – no, _someone else_ wailing.

Light breached the cage, and he felt strong arms grasp him. He struggled briefly as someone grabbed his arm and plunged a sharp needle into the vein. His awareness faded and he became detached from his body. He felt the blood trickling from his scalp, and looked around at the people manhandling him out of the cage.

A lot of them were in scrubs, and he was hard press to recognise any of them. Only Bobby stood out, kneeling on the floor, looking horrified. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide and fearful.

Wailing continued to fill the room.

Jean-Paul raised a hand, and held it out toward Bobby. The Iceman's beautiful hazel eyes widened in horror as they fixed on the offered hand. Jean-Paul noted with some very distant terror that he was staring at the blood and the clumps of skin and hair that clung to the nails.

The containment bay's lights flickered going from red to white.

Jean-Paul looked up; his eyes were being blinded by the bright strip light above him.

He also thought the high, constant wail was Bobby.

Jean-Paul's world tilted.

* * *

The warmth on his face was so beautiful that he woke up crying.

As he moved closer to the surface of wakefulness, Northstar turned his head into the warmth and realised it was light. It was real light. He opened his eyes with a shock, and gasped, "FUCK!"

Northstar shut his eyes tightly, and strained his head away from the light. Someone beside him cursed, moving from one side of him swiftly and then the warm light was gone.

"Sorry," Robert whispered, "I'm sorry. I forgot."

Northstar blinked sluggishly, rolling his eyes toward the source of the high, constant beep. "That's it." He murmured, staring at the bright green display of the heart monitor. He looked at Robert, "What are you doing here? Where am I?"

Robert opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as the door opposite opened. Northstar moved his head slowly, but even this movement proved to be too much.

Northstar's world tilted and faded to black.

* * *

"He needs to rest;" This voice sounded somewhat like the Beast, "We can't continue the treatment with him like this."

"It's not that simple, he's still dangerous. He was showing vast improvements with the scenarios but that doesn't mean…" That voice sounded like Cyclops. "Wait, is he conscious? Can he hear us?"

"Can you hear us, Jean-Paul?" That was Robert. "You've been under for about a week now."

Northstar tentatively opened his eyes wearily. Everything was blurry, even Robert. Blinking once seemed to help so he did it again, until everything was relatively clear. His head felt tight and heavy at the same time. He tried to raise a hand but found he could move nothing from his neck downward. "Fuck." He swore again, weakly struggling.

"He's still relatively under, he's not going anywhere on this combination." The Beast said, moving away from him. "He might be conscious but damned if he can do anything about it."

"I see." Cyclops was following him, "When do you think we can start again…?"

Both voices trailed off and the door closed firmly. Northstar struggled against his body, but soon had to give up.

Beside him, Robert sighed. "It's for your own good." He paused, "Northstar or Jean-Paul?"

"Fuck you." Northstar spat, brow furrowing as he tried to get free. Nothing budged. He could feel the heat of his own arms wrapped around his middle and surmised that they'd put him in a strait jacket. He flicked his eyes to Robert as the man scratched at his chin with a half amused look in his tired eyes.

"Good morning Northstar," Robert began coolly. "My, aren't we the little trouble maker?"

There was an angry undertone in his tired voice, and Northstar couldn't help himself as he rolled his eyes and looked away from Robert. "It's not my fucking fault that he can't take a little ribbing."

"You persuaded him I wasn't real. You persuaded him that he was actually dead and that this was _hell_."

"How do we know you're real? How do we know that we are awake?"

Robert sank down onto the bed. His weight shifted the springs, and Northstar found it hard to deny the touch of Robert's gloved fingers on his brow.

"I don't think you're real. You can't fool me." Northstar growled, trying to gather enough strength to twist his head away from Robert's fingers. "None of this is real!"

"How can you say that?" Robert took his fingers away and stared at Northstar sadly, "You were making progress. Didn't you hear them?"

Northstar licked his lips and glared at Robert, "I…"

Robert was sitting with the window behind him; the yellow blinds gave the light a warm tint. It reflected dully off his golden-brown hair's shiny highlights, and his hazel brown eyes were so warm. Robert had left the sunglasses at home, and the hours he'd been sitting by Northstar's side were expressed in the dark circles and the red rims of his eyes.

Northstar couldn't bear it.

"Why are you wearing gloves indoors?" Northstar snapped irritably, "You fucking idiot, do you honestly think it makes you look cool?"

"I'm wearing them because my secondary mutation is spreading faster." Robert seemed subdued, refusing to rise to Northstar's insults. "My hands are mostly frozen now." He raised his left hand. It was stuck in a half fist, the fingers curled as if they were talons. Robert smiled ruefully, "I'm turning to ice now. It doesn't appear to be slowing down. I might be dying."

"You fucker." Northstar stared at the hand, "You fucker! You FUCKER! YOU FUCKER!"

Robert blinked, jerking back from the vehemence in his voice. "Northstar…"

"I'm not better yet!" Northstar continued to stare at the hand as if it could speak for itself, "I'm not better yet! I'm not better yet! How can we go somewhere nice if you turn to ice!" Northstar's jaw snapped shut with a click and the man ground his teeth together as he closed his eyes tightly and pressed his head back as far as it would go into the pillow. "You said we'd go somewhere nice! You said!"

"I'm sorry." Robert spoke quietly. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you. They've been keeping you under for so long, I just… I thought just coming out with it would be the best way."

"Why?" Northstar sniffed, panting slightly as he tried to keep his emotions under control. He opened his eyes to glare at Robert hotly as he demanded, "WHY!"

"They don't know." Robert smiled sadly, reaching for Northstar's brow again with the hand that worked. "In the past week, since you messed with Jean-Paul; it's just gotten worse."

"It's not fair…" Northstar closed his eyes, "It's not fair, Rober', I'm not better yet…"

Robert's hand was cold, even with the glove, as he ran his fingers over Northstar's brow. Yet, Northstar said nothing more. All the speedster could think about was how it wasn't fair of Robert to do this to him when he wasn't better yet.

"Trust in me, Northstar. Jean-Paul. Both of you have got to trust in me, I'll get you through this." Robert gathered the broken man up into his arms, and leant over to press his face against Northstar's chest. "I love you, both of you, and I'll get you through this. You've just got to trust in me. If you can't trust anything else, trust in me."

"But none of this is real…" Northstar hissed angrily, staring at the ceiling, hating the tears that rolled down his face and into his ears. Robert shifted and moved so that he straddled Northstar's prone body. He leant over until he could stare Northstar evenly in the eyes.

His hazel eyes were determined. "I'm real enough right now. Trust in me."

"But… none of this is…" Northstar closed his eyes and swallowed. Robert moved forward and pressed surprisingly warm lips against his dry ones.

"I know…" Robert whispered distractedly, "I know, love, but when you're better, I promise, we'll go somewhere nice."

Northstar choked on a sob. Robert's lips were so warm. His body was warm too. It was like Northstar was lying in the beautiful sunlight. He'd missed that feeling.

"You'll love it…" whispered Robert, the tip of his cool tongue slipping out to brush lightly against Northstar's tightly pressed lips. "We'll go together."

A sigh escaped Northstar, and he shuddered.

"You dumb fuck…" Robert murmured fondly, "It's a test of your will."

Northstar surrendered into the kiss, and absently, he noticed the heart monitor's beep was high and constant. Warmth flushed through his body and his eyelids fluttered.

"I give up." Northstar whispered shakily, "Please, don't let me go, Bobby."

He was still alive.

* * *

+ _Full Moon_ +

* * *


	5. Waning

**Notes:** An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people. It's lots of fun to work with. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little.

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture. SPOILERS.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

**Chapter Five: Waning**

* * *

The hall's light clicked on.

Bobby's laughter was low and warm as Jean-Paul gasped. "Is this… Is this _really_ ours?"

"Yup." Bobby put their bags down, beaming as Jean-Paul looked around the place. Most of the furniture had been moved in, and the rest of their belongings would arrive tomorrow. They'd been so desperate to get out of the facility that they'd left as soon as the small house had been declared cleared for living. It wasn't the small place in Montreal that Jean-Paul had wanted, but after two years in the X-Men's containment bay and then a further six in a S.H.I.E.L.D. confine, Jean-Paul was happy to call anywhere that was _without_ a constant twenty-four hour watch, _home_.

It had taken S.H.I.E.L.D. five years to finally get a hold on his problem, and in that time both he and Bobby had changed so much. Bobby had quit the X-Men finally, so that he could devote his time to Jean-Paul. As soon as he had gotten away from the X-mansion, it was revealed that his secondary mutation was receding. They'd laughed so much when they realised that Bobby was actually having an allergic reaction to a student at the school.

Now, both of them were free to do as they wished.

In the last six months, the doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D. had revealed that Jean-Paul was close to being completely healed. Northstar had disappeared some time after they had been transferred to S.H.I.E.L.D. But Bobby had stayed. When it was confirmed that Northstar was completely gone, Jean-Paul had been allowed to move into a shared room with Bobby. Jean-Paul hated being alone. Even though Northstar had been so violent, Jean-Paul at least appreciated the company. Bobby though took Northstar's place. They slept together, but never shared their bodies. Bobby had said that as much as he wanted to, he wanted to wait until Jean-Paul was healed.

It had made Jean-Paul smile.

Soon, he had been allowed visitors. Few came, of course. None of the X-men. Annie came one time, bringing along Marilyn, the cook. They'd stayed for an hour. It was wonderful. The only other person, who visited, surprisingly was Jeanne-Marie. She had sobbed a lot when they first met, but then she got better at seeing him in his strait jacket.

The best thing was the night when Bobby kissed him and gave him the key to this house. Engraved on a key-ring were the words; "_Somewhere nice._"

And here they were.

Somewhere nice.

The perfect home, with a man who'd stuck by him through the worst of things. Jean-Paul wanted to cry. He looked around the beautiful little place, noticing all the little things that needed doing. The walls were a pale green, and the movers had left all the plastic coverings in a pile. It was so beautiful and he was finally free of everything.

Bobby closed the door and locked it. He smiled at Jean-Paul, "I made sure that the fridge was packed and that the kitchen was ready. We won't have to leave for a long time." He turned and leant against the door. "I can't believe that any of this is real!"

"I can." Jean-Paul laughed happily, "If it means I'm better again, I can believe anything!"

Bobby wasn't wearing his uniform anymore, and Jean-Paul thought him to be more handsome than any other he'd ever seen in his life. Bobby had recently cut his hair, and for once it wasn't just an adorable floppy mess. Though thankfully, Bobby had given up his love affair with gel. His hazel brown eyes sparkled warmly.

"Stop looking at me like that, lover." Bobby blushed slightly, and looked away with a smile on his face.

"I cannot help it, my dear silly Bobby, you're so very beautiful." Jean-Paul spread his arms and moved to embrace the former x-man. Bobby ducked his head into the crook between Jean-Paul's head and shoulder, and pressed a cool kiss against Jean-Paul's neck. Jean-Paul shuddered as he felt Bobby's cool tongue slip out and flick over his sensitive neck.

With a fond giggle, Jean-Paul turned his head and pressed his lips against Bobby's ear to whisper huskily. "I love you."

Bobby pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, his hazel eyes crinkled at the corners. "Let's go somewhere nice…" Above them, the lights frizted and shorted out. They were plunged into darkness. Bobby continued warmly, "You'll love it. We'll go together."

Jean-Paul chuckled in the darkness. He clasped his hands together and concentrated on the palms of his hands, a soft glow emanated from him. He looked up at Bobby, and it seemed for a moment that there was nothing but the two of them left in this world. Bobby stared at his hands then looked up, the soft glow making the colour in his eyes really stand out.

"I suppose I need to go get some light bulbs." Bobby sighed, "And I'll check the electrics on my way out."

Jean-Paul's smile faded slightly, as he glanced around worriedly, "But it's snowing outside."

Outside the wind kicked up and howled. Bobby shook his head, "All the more reason to check. Besides I'll be fine. Remember? The mutant who controls ice here?"

Jean-Paul nodded, "Yes, yes, I suppose so." He sucked in his bottom lip and chewed on it for a moment, "Be careful, my darling Bobby."

"I can't be hurt." Bobby winked. "A little snow can't kill me."

"Still…" Jean-Paul sighed, and then shook his head, "No, you're right."

"Of course I am." Bobby turned away to unlock the door. He pulled the key from the door and handed it to Jean-Paul. "Don't go anywhere, don't leave the house. I left my keys in the bags. You can't leave."

"Of course," Jean-Paul wrapped his hand around the key and put it in his pocket for safe keeping. Something smacked hard against a window, and Jean-Paul turned his head at the noise. "Bobby…" He began, "Maybe you should take the key after all…"

Jean-Paul pulled the key out of his pocket and turned to offer it to Bobby. He frowned as he noticed that Bobby was already gone. He sighed and opened his hand. His frown grew deeper as he realised that the key had fallen off the key ring.

He turned the key ring over, and brought his other hand closer to shine more light on the fob. Jean-Paul cried out and threw the key ring into the darkness of the hall as he realised the words had changed.

It no longer read "_Somewhere nice_."

He sped away from the fallen key fob, and moved to light every candle he could find in the house. He only stopped when the master bedroom was fully lit and he could sit in the middle of the bed. Jean-Paul wrapped his blankets around his shivering body, and folded over until he could press his face against his knees.

He breathed in and out hard.

The key ring had read "_Let me out, you dumb fuck_."

* * *

It was already morning when Jean-Paul woke up. 

Light streamed through the window. The yellow blinds gave the light a warm tint. Jean-Paul looked over and saw that Bobby was still sleeping beside him. Beyond Bobby, the key ring – complete with key again – lay on the bedside table. Jean-Paul reached over Bobby tentatively, and picked up the key ring. The engraved words were right again, "_Somewhere nice_."

Jean-Paul sighed and shook his head as he set the key down again quietly; perhaps something had shaken loose last night because of the sudden dark. He looked down at Bobby. The light reflected dully off his golden-brown hair's shiny highlights, and his eyelashes fluttered open.

Bobby smiled sleepily, widely at him.

"This is such a beautiful dream," he whispered huskily, "Don't you think?"

Jean-Paul reached out, and ran his hand through Bobby's silken hair. "It is. I'm so happy."

Bobby closed his eyes and reached out to pull Jean-Paul toward him, "Let's spend today in bed, love. Let's not go anywhere for now. Let's stay like this, my dear love."

Jean-Paul squeaked as Bobby pulled the blankets over their heads. "But the walls! The house needs to be decorated! The movers will be coming!"

Bobby chuckled quietly, "Shh… don't worry about that right now." He landed a cool kiss on Jean-Paul's bare shoulder, "Talk to me about something."

"What shall I talk about?" Jean-Paul moved to twist his legs with Bobby's. He stroked his hand down Bobby's side, loving the smooth, warm skin as it moved under his hand. He moved until he was lying above Bobby, spreading his legs so that his knees could press against Bobby's strong thighs. "Can't you start?"

"Tell me about Joanne."

Jean-Paul blinked and looked down at Bobby. Under the covers, the light was a dusky grey. "Why do you want to know about her?"

"I just want to understand you more. We need to discover the reason behind this rage that the brain washing has triggered."

Jean-Paul frowned slightly, and was about to reply when he heard strange voices. He stiffened as he realised that there were strangers in his house. Bobby below him smiled warmly. "Don't worry, it's the movers. Remember? They're dropping stuff off. I gave them the key so we wouldn't have to get up."

"Bobby!" Jean-Paul blushed hotly, "What if they come in here?"

"I locked the bedroom door." Bobby continued to smile, though his expression jarred somewhat with his voice. "Talk to me about your time with the X-men. Do you remember any hostility toward them?"

"No, of course not!" Jean-Paul sat up until he was straddling Bobby's torso, and the covers slid off his shoulders. "You're asking such strange things…"

He stared at Bobby as the strange voices grew alternatively louder and quieter. Bobby's smile was brilliant and warm, his beautiful hazel eyes sparkling. Jean-Paul heard a high and constant beep, and snapped his head toward the alarm clock. It was so loud and sudden that he put up very little resistance when Bobby suddenly rolled them over and landed a hot, wet kiss on his lips. Bobby pulled away, holding Jean-Paul's wrists down tightly. He stared into Jean-Paul's face intensely before whispering sadly.

"Time's up. Wake up. Wait for the Dawn."

The alarm clock's beeping grew louder. The movers outside started to argue.

"When you're better," Bobby promised in a whisper, "We'll go somewhere nice."

Jean-Paul twisted his head; the digital display on the alarm clock was warping. The bright green numbers were racing along the display and jumping.

A hand grasped his chin and dragged his head away from the alarm clock. A bright light shone into his eyes, blinding him.

"He's responding favourably to the scenario. What have you been imputing?"

"We don't actually know; he processes everything so quickly. We've just been letting his mind work through everything, and it's selecting its own reality. The machine is compensating for the speed that his brain works at."

"Jean-Paul?"

The light clicked off.

He blinked, suddenly lost in the darkness.

"Oh, you dumb fuck."

Jean-Paul looked up. Sitting above him, in a mirror image, Northstar sat crossed legged on the ceiling. He had his hands clasped together and they were glowing as he concentrated on pushing the light into the surface of his palms only. Northstar looked remarkably calm for a man who was covered in blood and gore. Even though he was sitting on the ceiling, it seemed that gravity wasn't touching him. His hair didn't flop down as it should have done.

Jean-Paul blinked as he realised he was sitting in the exact same position, with his hands clasped together, glowing.

"What's going on, Northstar?" He asked, looking around the darkness around them fearfully. "Where have you been?"

"Time's up." Northstar said, and then he laughed brightly, "Wake up, you dumb fuck!"

He threw his hands apart, and Jean-Paul was blinded by the bright lights.

* * *

+ _Waning_ +

* * *


	6. Last Quarter

**Notes:** So, here was the big reveal! Jean-Paul and Northstar have been dreaming a new life for themselves. **None of it was real**, so I recommend going back and trying to see if I was dropping hints. I'm very tempted to do a break down, but that will be at my LJ - **dwarfydrm **- and I'll post something at the various other sights. I'll like to thank everyone for their support - though I'm highly amused to see that this has become one of my most hit stories, and yet only **25 reviews**! Come on, I must have at least spelt something wrong! It has been a **fantastic experience**, and I've had to sit on my hands the last few chapters - So tempting to spill the beans and hint that _Nothing was real. _

All I will say now though is: **Wait for the Dawn.**

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture. SPOILERS.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

**Chapter Six:** **Last Quarter

* * *

**

The bright lights faded away and Jean-Paul Beaubier tried to breathe.

Something was covering his face, forcing air at him. He blinked wearily, his body heavy and stretched. His vision was blurred at first, but as he blinked out of it, the room around him became clear. He was in some sort of laboratory. The lighting was so dim, nothing natural about it. The hum of computers buzzed distantly, muffled. Moving his head slightly, he could see two doctors or technicians working quietly, watching various screens. A third doctor with spiky grey hair entered the room carrying a tray of coffees and an orange tucked under his chin. He set down the coffees and shared them out, before settling down to peel his orange.

The smell of orange hit Jean-Paul's nose, and he half-sobbed mournfully.

Unaware of their patient, the doctor leant over to one of the working ones and said quietly, "I brought you an orange… do you want to share?" The working doctor shook his head, rolling his eyes at some in-joke. The first doctor shrugged and resumed pealing the orange, "Ok. I'll eat it slowly in case you change your mind."

Jean-Paul tried to lick his lips, and found he couldn't quite manage it. The third doctor had pushed away from his console and was sipping at his coffee. He'd picked up a newspaper and was quite engrossed in reading the sports pages. The headline on the front page screamed, "_90 of MUTANT KIND DISAPPEARS on M-DAY!" _Jean-Paul strained to read the smaller subtitle, _"Mutants speak out about Utopia! Most surviving Mutants are POWERLESS!"_

He flicked his eyes to a clock on a wall, it was one of those calendar/clock types that they had in banks. The ones that had the date and the time. Jean-Paul almost whimpered as he realised it wasn't eight years later… it was only seven_ months_!

Icy blue eyes widened and started to dart about the room, desperately looking for anything, anyone familiar. He spotted a jacket that was flung carelessly over a nearby chair and struggled to recognise the insignia. The logo was one he knew, but his panicked mind was scattered. He couldn't slow down fast enough to understand what was going on. He blinked and there was Bobby, standing in the shadows of the room.

He thought.

It was so dark, it could have been –

Bobby looked so sad. He stared at Jean-Paul with glassy hazel eyes, his mouth moving silently, _'I want to see the Dawn.'_

The doors on the opposite side opened, and three men walked in. One was a large man, in blue scrubs. He held a clipboard, and his glasses were pushed up on his head. Another doctor entered, wearing a lab coat. Finally, the third man made Jean-Paul remember the insignia on the jacket.

Nicholas Fury.

S.H.I.E.L.D.

Jean-Paul was in the care of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Tears flowed down his face freely, his heart breaking at the realisation. He began to blink, in a effort to keep his eyes clear enough to see properly. His eyes kept welling up, he couldn't stop the mourning for his imaginary life.

Nick Fury was speaking as he entered; his eye-patch side was toward Jean-Paul. "… Told the X-men that he's dead. They won't be coming for him. I just didn't want to get their hopes up, just in case we have to put a bullet in his skull anyway…" Nick turned his head fully to look at Jean-Paul, and his one eye widened before his head snapped back toward the doctors, "I thought you said he was to be under at all times!"

Everyone in the room suddenly startled and stared at him.

"What the hell?" The doctor with the clipboard started – Jean-Paul moaned as he realised this man had a similar voice as Beast. A long hiss began to sound in his head, and Jean-Paul realised with a sickening feeling that the things that encased his arms was pumping drugs into his system.

"Non! _Mercy!_ Please! Please, _don't do this to me anymore!"_ Desperately he looked around, his sobbing voice muffled by the air mask they'd strapped to his face. "NON! Noooo! Please! Stop it! Leave me alone! _LET ME GO!"_

He briefly met Nick Fury's eye, and saw the conflicting guilt and anger there. Suddenly, the world started to tilt.

And Bobby was there!

"Tell me about the Dawn!" Bobby urged, his eyes crying beautiful frozen tears, "Show me the Dawn! PLEASE!"

Jean-Paul struggled to keep his eyes open.

* * *

When he next opened his eyes, he was sitting on a cold, stone floor. Naked. 

And then there was Northstar.

"Oh, god." Jean-Paul whispered, horrified. "What… what new horrors must I face?"

Then there was Northstar, standing on the other side of the room, staring at him.

They were in a large stone room. They were naked. Northstar had all the gore, the blood on him from when he'd run through all those people he murdered. Blood dripped from his black hair, the shine in it was tainted red. He stared at Jean-Paul with one imperious eyebrow raised as if daring him to comment upon the massacre that they were both responsible. His cool blue eyes were sharp as they focused on Jean-Paul.

As quiet as a whisper, Northstar lifted into the air effortlessly. He floated toward Jean-Paul, barely a foot over the ground. Arms slightly spread as the blood dripped from him. Jean-Paul scrambled backward, until his unprotected back hit the harsh wall. Northstar landed softly before him, and hunkered down before him. He rested his elbows on his knees, and left his fingers dangling before him. They dripped onto the floor. Jean-Paul and Northstar watched together as the blood formed a small pool, before they both looked at each other.

Northstar smiled brightly as he spread his hands and motioned the cold, circular room.

"Welcome home, Jean-Paul."

Jean-Paul rocked slightly, running his hands up his sides. "This isn't ruh-right; my home is … my home is suh-suh-somewhere nice. Buh-bobby said so."

"Bobby isn't real." Northstar blinked once, "Obviously."

"You're lying, Bobby said th-that you wuh-were lying."

"Bobby said you were getting better, but you're not." Northstar jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "Didn't you see it? That was the real world. That was _real_. I saw it. I was awake one night when the technicians forgot to up the dose. I saw _everything_. S.H.I.E.L.D. are keeping us in some sort of machine!"

"You're lying. Bu-buh-bobby…" Jean-Paul whimpered, sobbing, "Bobby said you wuh-were lying."

"Bobby is a figment of our imagination. Created to keep us company as we were being treated. With all the Hydra commands gone and our psyche collapsing all around us, our silly Bobby was created to keep giving us commands." Northstar tilted his head, blinking slowly, "You don't remember the counselling sessions really, do you?"

"What…?"

Northstar smiled kindly, despite the piece of brain matter that slipped off his long hair and landed with a sickening _plut!_ "Oh, you dumb fuck."

"Wuh-what's going on?" Jean-Paul insisted, "Where's my s-sister!"

"They couldn't find her." Northstar answered simply, "Remember? She's crazy."

"Ah-annie---"

"Annie left the institute the same day Marilyn was killed. Remember? It was that tree thing - Black Tom? – that thing that stabbed Bobby through the chest, and started that Ice thing." Northstar smiled, this time cruelly. "Bobby turned to ice. Remember? He and Lorna started to date again…"

"Y-you're lying. _YOU'RE LYING_."

"Nick Fury never told the X-Men where we were. Logan found us. Remember, the sentinels, the cult, the bar…?" Northstar persisted, "Do you remember?"

"Nuh-no, the X-Men fuh-found us." Jean-Paul persisted, "They puh-put us in the cage for our own safety."

"YOU put us in the cage. YOU made the cage." Northstar laughed at his confusion, "Oh, you dumb fuck. There was never a real cage." He slapped the floor, splashing the hot, thick blood. "There was NEVER a REAL CAGE!"

Jean-Paul felt hot, fat tears fall down his face and collapsed against the wall. "NO! YOU'RE LYING! _YOU'RE LYING!"_

Northstar let him cry for a long time, before Jean-Paul felt a hand dip gently into his black hair. Opening his eyes, he saw Northstar again. As he had been before he died. There were three oozing cuts in his uniform, right above his heart. Blood – HIS blood – bled profusely from the wound that Logan had inflicted. Jean-Paul knew if he touched the back of Northstar's head, he would find wooden splinters from where they had slid down the tree.

Northstar – he looked so much like the once _real_ Northstar – stared at him sadly. His icy blue eyes were grave behind the orange visor. His gloved hand was gentle as it stroked down Jean-Paul's shivering form. "Shhh…" His smile was rueful. Northstar looked away from him, "Oh, Jeanne Marie… I never knew…"

He looked back at Jean-Paul regretfully and wise.

"We're not even real, Jean-Paul. You and I are not even real. We're just shards of our broken mind, and we need to let go before we can be put back together again."

Jean-Paul reached up and grasped at the blood soaked uniform, pressing his face against the X-insignia. "Don't leave me alone."

"You've got to let this go, so we can leave." Northstar continued, his voice growing quieter. "You've got to be prepared for the Dawn."

Jean-Paul shook his head desperately, "Don't leave! Don't leave me alone! I don't want to die!"

"You _must_." Northstar pushed him back and grasped him by the shoulders, "You must let me go. You must let go of this." He laughed brightly, "Jean-Paul, I'm not even real!"

Jean-Paul's fingers slipped from the uniform as Northstar stood and lifted gently into the air.

"They never found you." Northstar shook his head as he floated backward. He began to glow slightly, the tips of his fingers and toes starting to shimmer as if he were speeding up faster than even Jean-Paul could see. "Bobby wasn't _there_, the X-men never found you. They think you're _dead_. They probably don't even remember you. _None of this is real_."

Northstar was shimmering; his body was fading away like wisps of smoke. The smile he gave Jean-Paul was so beautiful, so free. "This is all a state of mind, don't you realise? A test of your will. You need to let go, you need to see the Dawn. And in the Dawn… we will be reborn."

Jean-Paul raised a trembling hand as Northstar's light grew too bright to endure.

"Wait for the Dawn."

Northstar breathed in and soon the light he emitted glowed so brightly, he burnt away. Jean-Paul closed his eyes tightly against the harsh light until it faded away. He waited, listening for anything other than his own harsh breath. He could hear nothing.

He was alone.

He was naked and cold.

In a darkened, silent room.

Every dream he'd ever had stripped away and lost in the darkness.

"And?" He whispered and looked around for someone to answer him, "And where now is my Dawn…?"

The shadows had no answer.

He was _alone_.

"Oh, god."

Jean-Paul tilted his head back, breathing in hard as he did and began to scream.

* * *

+ _Last Quarter_ +

* * *


	7. Eclipse

**Notes:** An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people. It's lots of fun to work with. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little.

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture. SPOILERS.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Eclipse

* * *

**

The gun went off with a flash that almost blinded him with fear.

Jean-Paul had nebulous memories of the angel who'd found him. She spoke to him of his rebirth, of his sister. The angel had brought light and warmth to his cold, stone room. She had been the Light that he'd been waiting for, the Dawn that Northstar had spoken of. _She had to be!_ Nobody else had come to him in the room. Nobody else had come to wipe away the blood on his hands, as she had done. In all the time, nobody – not even his darling, silly Bobby – had come.

Jean-Paul had been afraid, he'd been cold.

"Who-who are you?" He'd whispered, crouching against the wall. Afraid of his nudity in the bright light. And in a voice so sweet and kind, she'd answered, speaking of his salvation, of his rescue. Of his revenge against those who had wronged him.

He had struggled to name them at first, but with her guidance he had slowly realised what he had to do. Now, as he clutched the white hot bullet that his sister had almost placed in her beautiful head, Jean-Paul found balance in a way that he had missed.

She looked so confused at him, sitting there behind her desk.

He smiled as kindly as the angel had done for him in his time of confusion.

"This is not your time to die, Jeanne-Marie." He gently admonished her, "Far, far from it." Jean-Paul stepped closer to her and tossed the warm bullet from his hand. "This is the day of your _Rebirth._"

Jeanne-Marie blinked, "But… I… The X-Men… they've been looking for me, I never…" She began to frown, "You were dead. They've been looking for me, but I didn't want to face them… then I read in the newspapers…"

Jean-Paul shook his head silently, "Oh, Jeanne-Marie, dearest sister. Death is just a state of mind." He tugged the makeshift glove from his hand, to run a warm finger down her cheek. The small amount of telepathy they once had engaged immediately. It was balance! Just as the angel had promised!

Jeanne-Marie grabbed his hand and pressed it against her cheek, gasping. "Of course!" She cried out, as she too finally understood. "Of course! Jean-Paul! You and I…" She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "You and I. All these other personalities… they were there just compensate. They were just there because you were not!"

"I am here now, sister."

"Yes! And now, I am here for you…" Jeanne-Marie closed her eyes, the tears tracking down her cheeks, "I'm sorry… That room was so cold…"

"I was waiting… I forgot that you were all I needed to be balanced."

Jeanne-Marie shook her head, "Oh… I forgot as well." She kissed the skin between his thumb and his index finger. "Let's never forget it again."

"Never." Jean-Paul promised, swiping his thumb fondly over her full lips. "We'll never be alone again as long as you and I are together."

"Forever."

Jean-Paul broke into a brilliant smile as he moved to stand behind her. He wrapped himself around her shoulders, resting his chin on her bared shoulder. "My beautiful sister," he dipped his head and kissed her shoulder. "My dear sister, I missed you."

She clasped her hands over his arms and tipped her head to bump it gently against his. "I won't ever leave you again." She turned her head to brush her nose against his high cheek bone. "Promise."

"Good…" He moved to brush his nose lovingly against his sister's. "Now, dear sister… We are going to go somewhere nice…"

He raised his bared hand and twined it into her black silken hair, pulling her head closer so he could kiss her temple.

"You'll love it…" he whispered, his icy blue eyes open. The Angel stood nearby, nodding sagely. "We'll go together."

* * *

They travelled with the Children as the Angel told them. 

The twins sat huddled in the back of the truck, wrapped around each other. They dressed once more in the uniforms that were balanced, and the makeshift boots and gloves that the Children had brought with them. They sat; legs twisted together, arms around shoulders, hands linked. They tilted their heads together and stared into each other's eyes lovingly. Their sleek black hair, washed and dried and brushed until it shone, mingled as they pressed their foreheads together.

It was so hard to tell where one twin began and the other ended.

They spoke in a mix of Québécois French and telepathy. Their conversations shifted subject so fast that anyone listening and trying to translate would be hopelessly lost. They had so much to catch up on, her time with Weapon X, his teaching at the X-institute. Her madness, his death, her lost life, his reincarnation, her hell without him, his hell without her.

By the time they had left Canada, they were almost one in their movements. Closer than ever before, she learnt to do that thing with her right eyebrow that he did with his left eyebrow. He learnt how to stand with his left hip cocked just so, like she did with her right hip. By the time they were dropped off in New York, Northstar and Aurora were reborn. Beautiful, graceful, lethal, dangerous.

When they burst through the teachers' lounge windows at the X-mansion, the only real difference between them was some petty matter of gender. They were balanced and one and glorious together.

"N-northstar!"

Jean-Paul looked away from his sister, and stared into the darkened room. Bobby stood there before him. Jean-Paul felt a stab of fury at the man. He had been so handsome before, and now? Bobby stood there in a grotty old t-shirt; his hair – once a beautifully balance between brown and blonde – was now a stiff, ugly, bland honey. His hazel eyes had dulled into an uninspired light brown.

This Iceman wasn't his dear, silly Bobby.

This Iceman was… a _bastardisation_ of the 'Bobby' Jean-Paul had once known. An insult to the beautiful, kind, young man who'd helped him so much.

Northstar had disappeared and taken Bobby with him. This Iceman… this… _Drake_, was not even close to the rebellious, the roguish Robert that Northstar had loved. Beside him, his sister whispered in his mind. She was confused as well. She had wanted to meet his dear Bobby.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Drake continued, crassly ignorant. Jean-Paul was repulsed. "You're supposed to be—I mean I was _there_ when you--"

Jean-Paul cut him off.

"Death is a state of _mind_, Drake. A test of _will_."

Jeanne-Marie tugged at his mind, and Jean-Paul paused for a nano-second. Bobby – HIS Bobby – stood just beyond Drake. In the shadows almost. He stood as Jean-Paul remembered him: handsome, matured. His hazel eyes glittered brightly. His floppish blonde-brown hair danced in the draft coming from the destroyed window. His expression was a curious mix of wicked and gently amused. Jeanne-Marie could see him, just like she had seen the Angel. They were connected in their minds. Jean-Paul continued, speaking to his dear, silly Bobby.

"You come out of it like a slingshot _stone_, with a new trajectory." Behind Drake, Bobby nodded sagely because he understood. Jean-Paul felt a slight smile tug at his lips, and knew a blissful smile had appeared on Jeanne-Marie's. Jean-Paul continued, "A new _momentum_."

While Drake stared at him gormless, Bobby nodded again and mouthed, _"Tell me about the Dawn… Show me the Dawn! Please!" _

Northstar and Aurora were glorious as they linked hands. Jean-Paul focused on Drake. Bobby already understood, but Drake needed more. Jean-Paul breathed in slowly, his voice awed.

"Let me _show_ you."

Their light – their Dawn – was glorious as they unleashed it upon the X-men.

* * *

When Cable hit him in his mind, Jean-Paul lost his connection with his sister. For a long moment, Jean-Paul was detached from everything. He found himself in a dark place without emotion. He turned and saw shards. Shards of himself. Of his mind. Of his dreams and of his memory.

* * *

What was fake…

"_These thoughts aren't your own…" Bobby spoke faintly, his attention caught on the bloodied fingers. "Your head's just been screwed up by all that Hydra brain washing."

* * *

_

What was real…

"_These thoughts aren't your own, bub." Logan sighed heavily as he sat in the barstool. He stank of cigars and rain. Northstar sneered at him as he continued, "Your head's just been screwed up by all that Hydra brain washing."

* * *

_

What he dreamt…

"_No, I don't hate you; I was just… angry before, I was angry at myself and just took it out on you."_

_There was a very long silence, so long that Bobby swallowed and spoke again._

"_I don't hate you, Jean-Paul. I… I think I love you."

* * *

_

What he remembered…

_The look in Bobby's eyes was so cold, Jean-Paul wondered if the other man hadn't inadvertently dropped the temperature. "If anything happens to Warren…I will kill you."_

"_What…" Jean-Paul cursed himself for choking on the words, "What did you say to me?"

* * *

_

Who he was…

_Jean-Paul Beaubier, Northstar … Skier, father, fighter, chairman, teacher… X-men, Alpha Flight… He was a gentleman and a rogue. Born normal and so very proud now to be different.

* * *

_

When he'd died…

'_**You dumb fuck.' **_

_Northstar couldn't believe he'd let himself be nailed through the heart by Logan! Even as his heart muscles contracted and expanded in a vain effort to keep beating, as he sank down the rough bark and got splinters in his scalp, Jean-Paul's last conscious thought was berating, a hot, angry spike as he yelled at himself in his mind._

'_**You dumb fuck!'

* * *

**_

And finally, when he'd woken up, that first terrible night when Logan had stopped him and the first cracks appeared in the brain washing. There was nothing to stop the crushing guilt that he'd murdered people. Yes, they had been bigots and red necks and racists and wife beaters, but they had been _people_. He'd become everything he'd ever hated. It turned his stomach when he'd seen himself, covered in all the blood and gore and knowing it was _none_ of it was his own.

Jean-Paul had been trapped in his body, barely aware of himself. The doctors moved around him, ignoring him as he tried to move, tried to explain. They stared at him as if he didn't matter, as if they'd already given up on him and were waiting for him to die.

He had been furious… and thus, Northstar had been born. Determined that, while yes, he had to pay for his crimes, but no, he would not just lie here and _die_. He would not go quietly into the night! They would pay for doing this to him!

Then he had been frightened. Terrified. Desperate. Here, Jean-Paul had been born. He tried to put the anger away, but Northstar would not be silenced. Jean-Paul didn't want to be alone… but at the same time, he could not allow Northstar to roam free.

So, Jean-Paul created a box. In his mind. A place to put all his fury, all his hate.

And he shut himself in there with Northstar because he could not bear to be alone.

* * *

Nobody – not S.H.I.E.L.D, The Children or the Hydra's brain washing – could find this box, this cage. They could take his body, but here they could never touch his mind. Jean-Paul hid in here, and Northstar was contained in here. It was a perpetual night in the cage, darkness that would hide them safely from anyone who would be looking for them. Those who wanted to hurt him wouldn't dare venture into the night for them. 

He could pretend, safe in this cage, that someone who was really looking for him… someone who _loved_ him … would find him here, and bring some light. They would bring a new dawn for him. They would find him and take him away, take him somewhere nice.

They just had to wait for the dawn.

"You'll love it." Jean-Paul promised Northstar, "We'll go _together_."

* * *

+ _Eclipse_ +

* * *


	8. Dawn

**Notes:** An exercise in a little surrealism. I like writing for crazy people. It's lots of fun to work with. I'm taking a little from cannon and a little from a slightly different track. All I can ask of you is please, please stick with it. I'm experimenting a little.

**Synopsis**: Jean-Paul Beaubier was killed and resurrected by the HAND and Hydra. He was brainwashed. His mind is in pieces. Someone must be able to put him back together.

**Warnings:** Mental Issues, AU-ish Cannon hybrid. Foul language. Mental/Physical Torture. SPOILERS.

**Category:** Slash overtones (obviously – Northstar's gay!), Mental problems, surrealism, romance/obsession. Hurt/Comfort.

**Disclaimer:** I won't insult your intelligence, you know the score.

* * *

**State of Mind**

By Doctor Megalomania

* * *

**Chapter 8: Dawn

* * *

**

"Do not call him by name yet. Not Northstar, not Jean-Paul. If you must call him anything, call him Beaubier."

Bobby Drake was bleary eyed, in need of caffeine, more sleep and sugar. He did not _need_ Scott to wake him at 3.45am, did not _need_ Hank to drag him out of bed at 3.57am, and he definitely did not _need_ Cable to be up in his face at 4.13am. "Wha…?" he broke off to yawn before continuing, "What? Why?"

"Listen, Drake." Cable spoke slowly. "Look, it's early. I know. But it's really fucking important, so do you need me to imprint this all in your brain?"

"Probably." Drake muttered as he sipped on his sweet coffee. "Yeah, go on then."

Cable dragged a hand down his face, the long night with Sabertooth wearing on him. "Right. Just for the frontal lobe, do not call him by either Northstar or Jean-Paul. Do not promise to take him _anywhere_. Especially, do not promise to take him 'somewhere nice'. Do not promise him that he'll get better. He _is_ better; he just doesn't accept it yet." Cable paused to take a long gulp of hot coffee with a grimace, "Do not utter the following phrases: '_You dumb fuck_.', '_You'll love it, we'll go together_.' And finally, '_when you are better, I'll take you somewhere nice_.' I can't stress how important all this is. Do not suggest topics about his life for conversation, let him lead the conversation. Do not give him commands that lead to definite action."

"I must confess to being perplexed." Hank said quietly, "What is this all about? Why do you have to outline all of this?"

Cable stared at Beast for a long moment, his expression turning sour. "You want to know why?" He snorted and held up his hands to count off his fingers, "They dumped a beta-level telepathic/ borderline psychic into a machine that _messes_ with the mind, compressed time in an effort to keep up with a _speedster_ and left him alone with _only_ clinical human contact and pumped dangerous, experimental amounts of paralysing, hallucinatory drug cocktails into his blood stream – without _really_ knowing how it would effect his emotional and cognitive systems - for seven _straight_ months. I could go on, you know, about the fucking sensory deprivation and randomised therapy sessions when he was completely incapable of responding or indeed recognising he was in such a situation…" Cable's mouth twisted unpleasantly as he spat, "And they expected him to come out, just peachy fucking fine."

Scott scratched his unshaved chin, "I don't get why Nick lied to us all…"

"What I gather from Jean-Paul's memories," Cable sank into a seat, "Your agent was worried that he might have to blow Northstar's head off after all. He didn't want to raise your hopes up."

"Surely that should have been our decision;" Hank argued, his brows drawing together angrily, "Young Katherine and Logan have been so guilty about his death…"

Cable waved his hand wearily, "Look, we can argue about what should have been done until the fucking cows come home, but I need to make sure Drake understands this completely." He levelled a serious look at the sleepy Iceman, "You are vital to breaking the lock in his mind. So, wake up, we're running out of time."

Bobby stifled another yawn, "Why do we have to do this so early again?"

"Beaubier believes that the Dawn that his various personalities have been talking about is the Dawn of the White Light cult…" Cable shook his head, "It's not. He believes that he won't be better until somebody finds him. We have found him, so now we need to nudge him in the right direction to accept that the time to hide is over. He's the lynch pin. Aurora will follow him. He's the dominant personality right now. When he's fixed, she'll follow."

"And I'm important because…?"

"Because two of his personalities fixated on you, and in doing so created a third personality _based_ on you. This third personality is the main controlling one. The shadow king of their mind, if you will. It was telling the others what to do." Cable sighed and sat back, gazing thoughtfully out the window. The grey of the sky seemed to spread to everything. The sunrise was only an hour away. "When he arrived here with Aurora, he was confronted with something real. Something he could touch base on. Briefly, it shocked him out of the dream that the Children wove tighter around his mind. The dream his mind had created to cope with the stress of being in the machine that he'd been tortured in for the last seven months."

Cable returned his heavy gaze to Bobby.

"He attacked you because the Other Bobby Drake conflicted with you. The Other-Bobby personality must have ordered him to destroy you."

Bobby frowned, "What's to stop him from attacking me again?"

Smirking, Cable raised a hand to rest his chin. "Here's the thing, there isn't. But, you're made of ice, he's blown you up once before and you survived. Besides, I think that the other Bobby-personality collapsed when I smacked him upside the head."

"Oh, thanks." Bobby grimaced as he sucked down the dregs of his coffee. "So, I go in there and tell him I'm the real Bobby Drake and tell him to ignore the voices in his head. Got it."

"This isn't funny, Drake." Cable's amusement dropped instantly, "He's broken. He's fragile. If you want him to keep on living, you want to try being less annoying than usual. Fury was right about one thing. We still may have to put a cap in his head." He paused to let this sink in, "He's better physically, but mentally he's a bit like a china cup, glued together too many times. One good knock and he'll be broken beyond repair."

"And you dump this on my shoulders at twenty five past four in the morning." Bobby glared at them sullenly, but under this all, he looked a little guilty. In a very small voice, he admitted; "I threatened to kill him once, the last words I ever said to him were in anger…"

Hank laid a big, warm hand on his shoulder. "We've all made mistakes…"

"Yeah, well… what if he doesn't _want_ to speak to me?" Bobby looked to Scott, "What if he's still mad at me?"

Scott reached over to smack Bobby gently on the side of his head. "Listen, I wouldn't ask you, if I didn't know that you'd be able to do something helpful."

"Bobby," Hank looked meaningfully at the other two. Scott tapped Cable's shoulder and they both left without another word. Hank looked to Bobby, tiredly pulling off his glasses. "Bobby, my dear brother. We have been friends for a long time, yes?"

"Of course, Blue."

"And maybe lately, I've not been a great friend—"

"Hank!"

"Let me finish. But now, I'm going to tell you. Neither have you. Or Scott. Or indeed our playful angel, Warren." Hank sighed ruefully, "In fact lately, we've been assholes. To each other and to everyone else who hasn't been part of the original five. In this time of great change, perhaps it's time we too learnt to change." He stared into Bobby's eyes, and saw his friend's deep guilt. "Go to him, Bobby, please. It's time to stop this pain. Bring Jean-Paul Beaubier, the Northstar, his damned dawn."

* * *

Bobby drew a very deep breath. Cable, Scott and Hank stood just down the corridor from him. Jean-Paul had been placed in his old room. In all the craziness that had happened recently, nobody had come to clean it out. Beaubier's former students, led by Anole had moved to clean the place up. Anole was recovering, nursing his broken nose. Yet, he still believed that Northstar could be saved. It had been too early to wake the poor boy, so here were three X-men and some jerk from the future.

Bobby yawned, and breathed out very slowly.

He knocked on the door and waited.

"Come in." Beaubier's voice was faint.

Squaring his shoulders, Bobby opened the door and stepped in.

Beaubier was standing by the wide windows, naked but for a pair of old, loose drawstring joggers. His sleek black hair was sleep-tousled-stylish; his back displayed a number of bruises. Bobby winced as he noticed the pale, scrapped skin around his wrists, neck and waist. It was obvious that Beaubier had been restrained harshly for a long time. His back and sides was defined still, his natural metabolism not allowing his body to waste away.

Bobby stepped forward hesitantly. "Beaubier?"

"Oui." Beaubier's voice was still faint and flat, as if he were answering purely out of habit. "What do you want from me?"

"I'm here to visit you." Bobby replied, "I thought you might like some company."

He could see Beaubier's eyes in the reflection of the glass. The cool blue eyes - that had been so sharp the last time he saw them - were now bland, blank. Beaubier blinked slowly, before he turned to look at Bobby. The former Northstar drew his arms up and wrapped them around his torso, absently. Beaubier stared at him for a long moment. Bobby found his eyes drawn to the three small, parallel scars above his heart. The wound that killed him.

"Who are you?"

Bobby blinked; didn't Cable say that Beaubier had fixated on him?

"Uh…" Bobby was at a loss. He frowned slightly as he noticed that Beaubier was trembling. Moving forward, Bobby picked up a sheet from the bed, and approached Beaubier. The other man made no other movement, except for tracking him with bland, empty, blue eyes. "Aren't you cold?" Bobby said, holding the sheet up. "You're trembling, you know?"

"I… don't know… I was. In the room."

"This room?"

Beaubier's head tilted slowly. "No. The room that Northstar left. I was in the room. The cage was never so cold."

"Really?" Bobby moved forward again hesitantly. He lifted the sheet slowly, and wrapped it around Beaubier's shoulders. Beaubier seem to take this the wrong way, and moved closer to Bobby. The taller man bent forward to lean his head against Bobby's shoulder.

Bobby flushed, wishing that Cable had given him a chance to wash up properly. Or at least to slap on some deodorant. And a chance to change his t-shirt.

"You…" Beaubier lifted his head, and for a brief moment, his nose scrunched up and Bobby swore that there was a flash of the old razor sharp Northstar in there. Beaubier's eyes briefly narrowed in amusement, "You smell terrible. Late night?"

"Early morning." Bobby replied, still blushing.

"Morning?" Beaubier's eyes fell flat again. His head moved toward the window, "The angel lied to me."

"Did it?"

"She."

"Sorry. Did she?"

"Yes." Beaubier put his head on Bobby's shoulder again. Bobby raised his hands, and placed them lightly on Beaubier's shoulder blades, feeling the slight shift in the muscles as the other breathed. "She told me that she was the Dawn… she wasn't though. Otherwise why would Northstar tell me to wait for it?"

"Do…" Bobby swallowed, and found himself holding Beaubier slightly closer. "Don't you recognise me?"

Beaubier raised his head, and stared at Bobby. A long fingered hand came up to hover over Bobby's cheek, and for a moment, the iceman fought the urge to ice up. "The light is so poor. I'm sorry… should I?"

"Yes." Bobby chewed on the inside of his cheek, "We used to… uh, work together. We weren't really good friends, but… um… well, you know."

Beaubier smiled patiently. "I'm sorry." He focused on something over Bobby's shoulder.

Bobby looked over his shoulder to follow his gaze. On the horizon, the sky was turning a delicate shade of pink. It was almost time for the sunrise.

"I always wanted to go somewhere nice. Will you take me?"

Bobby returned his attention to Beaubier; the other was looking at him in a vaguely curious way. He realised that Beaubier's arms were snaked around his waist, a hand sliding up and down absently on the small of his back. Bobby swallowed, and shook his head. "No."

Beaubier blinked, and once again, Bobby saw some real life spark in the otherwise bland eyes.

"No." he repeated firmly, wanting to chase that spark. "We're going to stay right here." Bobby pulled away from Beaubier and opened the windows, drawing back the curtains and pulled Beaubier to stand in front of him. He put his hands firmly on the speedster's shoulders and placed himself close behind. Beaubier pulled Bobby's hands down, and around his waist. Bobby flushed again as he dared to place his chin on Beaubier's shoulder.

"I've found you." Bobby said, impulsively. "So, we're going to stay here, ok? I know that what I said before was really out of order, but I want to make it up to you… Hank said, I need to be a better friend, and before… when… when you were away, I made a promise to myself that I would try harder."

Bobby closed his eyes, and breathed in. He was suddenly nervous, aware that he was probably breaking every one of Cable's rules. He wasn't elegant, like Beaubier had once been.

"And, I know that you're better. I know you're in there, Beaubier. So, it's time for you to… I don't know, come out, or resurface? I just don't know what's going to trigger your brain, or your soul, or whatever, yeah… But you know what, here's the dawn. Here's the _Dawn_, Beaubier, so you need to start waking up. Start being yourself again. The long night is over! The dawn is here!"

"Bobby."

The iceman paused; surprised that he'd gotten so emotionally caught up. He felt his heart jump, as the man in his arms, whispered his name. Jean-Paul Beaubier turned in his arms and looked down at him with aware eyes, they didn't display the cool sharpness he was used to, but they weren't completely blank either. Bobby blinked as a small smile pulled at Beaubier's lips.

"Bobby Drake. That's your name, isn't it?" He looked over his shoulder, toward the horizon. The sun was just peeking over the curve of the earth. The speedster's cool blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a long moment before he moved again. "I knew someone, once upon a time, his name was Bobby too. I think… maybe I loved him so. I don't remember…" Jean-Paul Beaubier wrapped an arm around Bobby's waist and half turned to greet the morning. He spread his free arm, as if introducing Bobby to the brightening sky. His blue eyes glowed dimly with some internal light, and a beautiful smile graced his pale lips as he tipped his head toward Bobby.

"Good morning, Bobby."

His voice was so warm, as he spoke.

"I've been waiting so long for the dawn to come."

* * *

+ _Dawn_ +

* * *


End file.
